PATH OF THE STAR HUNTER

391 Chapter 391 Another Kind Of Festival

(Eight years ago, the earth)

“Mother, I won the gold medal again in the tournament.”

Entering the old Astryd residence gate, a younger version of Desmond dressed in a training suit beamed as he proudly displayed a gold medal in her hands.

Samantha Astryd, Desmond’s mother, greeted her spirited son with a soft smile, her right hand ruffling Desmond’s hair. Desmond’s joy increased a couple of levels upon receiving his mother’s affection, but soon a bucket of cold water fell on his head without warning.

“I am very proud of you, Desmond; my son is always the strongest. By the way, how are you doing with the scores I gave you for homework a few days ago?”

Desmond’s smile froze instantly; he knew very well how strict his mother could be at times when it came to music.

“Don’t be hard on the boy; I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time this weekend for some extra classes.”

Eiden Astryd, the main culprit behind Desmond’s less peaceful pastimes, came to his son’s rescue, to which his wife was not surprised; this dynamic father-and-son duo had given her more than a few headaches over the years.

“Okay, for now, go take a bath; it’s almost lunchtime, and your friend Claire will come to eat with us.”

.....

“Yes, mom.”

(Twelve years in the past, earth)

“Come here, Desmond, don’t be shy. This is Claire; I hope you can get along with her.”

Being introduced by Desmond’s mother, little Claire, who was barely four years old, climbed out from behind her mother, looking shyly at the child in front of her. Even the young seven-year-old Desmond found little Claire incredibly adorable with her puppy eyes and face flushed with shyness.

Feeling his mother’s gaze on himself grow more intense, Desmond stepped forward, reached out his hand to Claire, and introduced himself, acting like an adult.

“Nice to meet you, Claire. I hope we can get along from now on.”

Like a deer afraid of any sudden movement, Little Claire jumped back, ducking back behind her mother, leaving Desmond standing awkwardly with his hand outstretched.

That was the first time Desmond and Claire saw each other, the day their fates intertwined.

(Six years in the past, earth)

“Look, father, I can now perform all the movements you taught me with the sword.”

The smile on Eiden Astryd’s face turned both bitter and proud, but he still gave his son an answer. “I see; there is no doubt that you are my pride.”

(Seven years in the past, the earth)

The musical notes ceased, and Desmond snapped out of his trance state by releasing his firm grip on his violin, looking with joy and satisfaction at his mother, removing her delicate hands from the piano keys.

“You’ve improved a lot, Desmond; it’s a shame you don’t want to dedicate yourself to music.”

“I’m very sorry, mother, I really enjoy music, but I don’t want to make a living from it.”

“I know; you want to be like your idiot father and join the army.”

His mother’s complaint about the kind of life she wanted to lead had become frequent, so young Desmond just smiled wryly.

(Today, Serefia)

Desmond had been lost in the sea of ??memories at some point as he carved the candle in his hands, and by the time he snapped out of it, the job was done. It was simple since Desmond had zero artistic talents in anything other than music.

In the center of the front of the candle, a violin and a sword were carved across each other, with occasional undulating patterns spreading out from there, covering the rest of the candle, the only other elaborate decoration being the small musical notes carved into the base, of the same.

It went without saying that both the violin and the sword represented Desmond’s parents and memories of him with them, as these objects were strongly related to the times he shared with his parents.

Now, inside the crystal candle, a kaleidoscope of memories could be seen flashing, leaving a longing and satisfaction on Desmond’s face.

And for the first time, without Kyuru’s help, the damage and fissures in Desmond’s soul began to heal. This was different from when Desmond went through the baptism of hellish pain when he consumed the fruit. Back then, Desmond’s willpower and spirit had grown stronger, his soul more solid and dense, but at no point did the cracks in it show any improvement.

However, all the improvements and advancements that Desmond had made in recent times were consolidated at this time, and Desmond’s soul showed clear signs of improvement. Mourning his parents, but still remembering all the beautiful things without being consumed by the loss, was something Desmond had never been able to do until now.

Cecilia and the children finished their candles minutes ago, but seeing Desmond’s delicate appearance, Cecilia wisely led the children outside to place the candles in the orphanage’s window frames.

Outside the orphanage, the children lined up behind Cecilia for her to help them place and light the candles. The magical glow of the candles served to distract and entertain the children, taking their childish thoughts and minds to less dark places. Part of the candlelight tradition was intended to do so, although the festival is so old that few people know its true origins.

The glow of the candles passing through the windows was enough to catch Desmond’s attention. “That girl should already know that she shouldn’t stray too far from me. I guess she’s too nice for her own good, not that that’s a surprise either.”

Giving one last reminiscent glance at the crystal candle in his hands, Desmond dismissed the idea of ??lighting it, thinking it would be a better idea to do so back on earth. But Desmond barely made it a couple of steps toward the door before a massive explosion shattered whatever feelings of peace he now carried with him.

It would be one thing if it had just been an explosion. That could have had some very particular reason, but the continual outbursts and crying of the children outside the orphanage made it very clear that this was not part of the festivities.

The mana fluctuations within Desmond turned aggressive, high-frequency vibrations fueling every fiber of his body, not wanting to take any chances; Desmond went straight into , trying to get to Cecilia’s side as quickly as possible.

It was lucky that the door to the exit was open, or Desmond would have had to smash it, but his haste proved to be well deserved, for in addition to a group of frightened children and a vigilant Cecilia; there was so much more in Desmond’s field of vision.

Burning buildings, sections of the defensive walls in ruins, cries of panic and pain, people running, consumed by the fear of death, complete chaos. Soldiers and knights of foreign colors brandished their weapons with fury and viciousness, spilling the blood of any innocent who crossed their path.

It was a carnival of mindless carnage, an almost mechanical slaughter. Although the theme was still death, this was a different festival than the one people were celebrating just a few minutes ago. A festival called war.

However, neither the children’s fear nor Cecilia’s vigilant attitude was due to the general chaos. Instead, these originated from the nearly twelve soldiers and a couple of foreign knights now surrounding the orphanage.

A meteor would have to hit Desmond in the head to believe this was a coincidence. From the way these people were looking at Cecilia, it was clear they had come for her.

Still, Desmond had to admit that he was surprised by the scenario; he never thought those old foxes in the church would be clever enough to use foreign hands to get rid of Cecilia.

Desmond could almost be sure that once Cecilia was dead, the church would use her death as propaganda and even support all kinds of aggressive policies of the kingdom in exchange for benefits from the royal family.

Best of all, the church didn’t have to do anything, they just had to stand by and watch, and even if this failed, they had lost nothing.

Desmond’s mind was working at total capacity; however, his body did not stop at all, and he soon went on the defensive to protect Cecilia and the children.

At first, Cecilia was worried about the children’s safety, but as waves of killing intent began pouring out of Desmond, she began to worry that the children would see too bloody a scene.

On the receiving end of this killing intent, the foreign soldiers weren’t intimidated in the least; it was expected, in war, it was about to kill or be killed, and fear would only make it more likely that they would find an early grave. Little did they know that their lack of fear increased Desmond’s excitement; who had certainly enjoyed the peace and festivities, but he had been itching to fight for a long time.

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